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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: A lot of reading.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
Croaker’s orders spilled into the van’s cavernous cargo hold as liquidly as the blood flowing from the head of the dead girl to the floor. Firewind had overcome his initial bout of shock at the sudden turn of events and was now adjusting his MedScanner to see if he couldn’t determine what had caused the aneurisms. It was just too…impossible for him to accept as a result of excessive drug abuse. No documentation he’d ever read about (and he often kept himself up to date on medical blogs and journals) detailed multiple aneurisms with a birth-to-death rate of a few seconds. Hell! For that matter, none described any patients with that many aneurisms. With his jaw set, the medtech studied the readouts of his scanner while he passed it over the head, heart, and vital organs of the victim and the nomad jumped onto Peacekeeper’s cell.
“Hello? It’s Croaker. We have the package, but there’s been a complication…”
”An’ wot might that be?”
“She’s dead.”
”Hmm. Thought the deal was, no ‘arm t’ the bird, an’ the lot o’ ya get paid. If ya go’ the bird shot—“
“Multiple brain aneurisms.”
”You don’ say…”
“Still headed for the meet as we were told at this time. Any new instructions?”
There was momentary silence on the other end, then, “No. Keep on, lad. We’ll meet.”
The line went dead at that point leaving the sounds of the storm to dominate the minds of everyone inside.
Minutes later, Bullseye turned the van onto the cement tarmac of the docks. The bay was being tossed about like black oil being carried about by a drunk. Huge waves crashed against the bulwark sending sprays of heavy water over the retaining wall twenty to thirty feet onto the docks. The van was hit by this spray more than once, and the electrical display of lightning against the backdrop of the bridge was like something from one of those holographically-enhanced operas corporates enjoyed so much. One could almost see the fat soprano standing in her valkyrie costume, spear raised to the heavens as she delivered that piercing high note.
Finding the warehouse where they were to meet wasn’t difficult. The large loading bay door was open, light spilling into the storm. Four men in long, black armored trench coats carrying heavy submachine guns stood at the mouth and as Bullseye pulled the vehicle up to them, three slivers of red laser lights passed through the windshield and found a home as dots of red light on the nomad’s chest and forehead. The fourth man walked calmly up to the driver’s side window and motioned for Bullseye to lower it. Before the man could say anything, Croaker stepped to the front, hands in plain view.
“We’re here with the bird.”
The trenchcoated man was thick through the jaw, mustached with a thick rake of black hair beneath his nose, and narrow, beady eyes. His head was bald and currently receiving a pelting massage from the rain. He eyed Croaker for a minute, tiny digital readouts running across his left eye for a moment and then nodded as he stepped back and motioned the van inside.
The interior of the warehouse was stacked with crates and steel shipping containers. Every so often another of these black-clad soldiers motioned the van down another aisle, or around a corner, until they were well within the belly of the structure. The overhead lights were hung by twenty-foot stretches of long inch-thick chain—large upside down troughs of fluorescent lights that cast a sickly yellow glow over the valley that lay hidden within the mountains of crates. Within that valley rested three vehicles: a large, black, SUV with tinted windows, and two black sedans the type very wealthy individuals have chauffeured. There were ten more of these black-clad soldiers with their submachine guns waiting in a semi-circle in front of the vehicles, and as the van slowed to a stop just inside the clearing, the door to one of the sedans opened.
The man who stepped out wore a ratty old fedora hat, a leather jacket with an American Flag on the shoulder, and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stepped aside just enough to allow an equally domineering figure to rise from the back seat wearing jeans and a bomber’s jacket—completely out of place with the luxury and high-class of the vehicles and soldiery.
The Piper (for that was the fellow in the fedora) and Springed-Heel Jack waited for Croaker and Peacekeeper to drop from the side door and step forward before they broke the circle of watchers and strode forward to meet.
“Where’s the bird?” Springed-Heel Jack went straight for the throat and Croaker motioned towards the van. The four made their way over to it with an air of confidence that spoke volumes for The Piper’s ability. At a motion from the infamous fixer, Croaker lifted the back door and sent it rolling upward, revealing the bloody scene to his employer for the first time.
Jack took in the new faces, the blood-covered floor, and the corpse without expression. “Brain aneurisms?”
“Yes.”
Firewind turned and peered at the man he knew was Springed-Heel Jack for the first time. He was an impressive figure to the islander, but Keahi had dealt with impressive before and now he was the man with the answers; what little answers there were.
“That’s not normal.”
“No shit?”
Keahi frowned a little at the man’s response, but continued none-the-less, “The sedatives that I gave her have no known side effects, and especially wouldn’t have set off the clots, so I’m fairly confident her death wasn’t caused by our actions.”
“Fairly?”
“I can’t be certain until bloodwork is done, and I’d need a full lab for that.”
Jack gave the faintest of nods, though Firewind didn’t really know what that meant and the man continued to stand there, staring at the inert form of the dead girl. Shifting his weight, the medtech waited for any further instructions or questions. His last round of scanning had been inconclusive and he was really hoping he’d have the chance to solve this mystery.
“A lab…” Jack scratched at his chin and glanced at the tattooed face of the medtech. “Like at a hospital?”
Keahi nodded, and then added, “Or the University.”
“You ‘ave access t’ either of those, Lad?”
Firewind shook his head a little sadly.
“Right, then.” With nothing more said, Springed-Heel Jack turned from the van and began to walk over towards his cars, his hand going to his pocket and retrieving a cell phone. The Piper stepped back just a little so he could keep everyone in sight. The fixer’s walk took him far enough away that he was able to mask his conversation from even those with enhanced hearing. It was a tense while, a number of minutes, a number of phone calls, and then the phone went back into his pocket and Springed-Heel Jack returned to the rear of the van.
“You’ll be followin’ us.” That was all he said as he collected The Piper and returned to their vehicles. It was with precision that the ten soldiers moved away, vanishing amongst the cargo rails and shipping containers leaving just the vehicles. The headlights switched on, and the sleek, black machines rolled out and past the van. It took Bullseye a two point turn to roll the van around and follow into the storm once again.
Their trip took them across town to the college campus where they road up the deserted streets and down some service alleys to the back of a large, looming structure made of red brick and white cement blocks. There was a loading bay nearby with a ramp and a side door. As the black vehicles rolled to a stop, their lights shut off and the doors swung open. Once again, the Piper was the first out, scanning their surroundings before allowing Springed-Heel Jack to step into the rain. Two men in black trenchcoats made their way to the back of the van and said nothing as they rolled a blanket out and made to move Merry Deth’s corpse onto the rough wool. All the while, those in the van could see Springed-Heel Jack and The Piper make their way to the service door, knock, and then knock again.
The door opened to reveal a man wearing the coveralls of a janitorial staffer. There was brief conversation before the man stepped aside, holding the door open for Springed-Heel and The Piper. The rest of the crew followed, including the two men who now carried the covered body of the bird between them wrapped in the blanket. Most of her blood had drained onto the floor of the van and the bleeding had subsided.
Almost immediately upon entering the yawning halls of the building the smell of cleaning supplies overruns the odor of the storm. Firewind immediately recalled his days at college and the types of rooms they’d all be encountering in this building. The fixer had arranged for him to be able to find the answers. Within short order they were being admitted to a room that required a security card access that the janitor provided. Everyone filed in: Springed-Heel Jack, The Piper, Croaker, Peacekeeper, Bullseye, Firewind, Preacher, DigitalScribe, Guardian, Spiff, and the two men carrying Merry Deth. These two set her on the floor behind the central counter, out of sight from anyone coming to the door. The janitor politely excused himself (or was it smartly), and Springed-Heel Jack turned to Firewind, spreading his arms wide.
“Have at it, Lad. The world is your oyster.”
The medtech immediately stepped to action. First, finding a syringe and drawing some of the blood from the victim’s body, and then moving to the back counter where vials stood waiting and he could fill various vials with small amounts of the blood as well as a Petri dish, or two. While Firewind worked, Springed-Heel excused himself and stepped out into the hall, cell phone to his ear the moment it closed, The Piper on his heel. This left the group alone with the two soldiers.
Needless to say, a number of looks were shared amongst the group, but little was spoken. DigitalScribe had managed to stay near the back of the crowd, probably as a favor to Croaker and to reduce the chance that he’d be recognized. Guardian, of course, stayed close by. Peacekeeper had made it publicly known (not that many didn’t already figure it) that she and Croaker were an item, and now the two stood close to each other near the door watching Firewind move excitedly about the room, peering through microscopes, typing away on a computer keyboard, checking chemical reactions within vials and on Petri dishes. Preacher found a three-legged stool and planted himself on it, while Spiff and Bullseye found out of the way places to seat themselves as well. The two guards Springed-Heel Jack had left with them remained watchful, but silent and time passed.
It was nearly an hour and a half later when Springed-Heel Jack returned with The Piper in tow. By that time, Firewind had been at the computer for close to fifteen minutes, apparently finished with the work involving the lab equipment.
“Well?”
“I was right,” Keahi began. “It wasn’t the sedative that acted as the catalyst. There was definitely a foreign drug in her system though. I won’t bore you with the breakdown, but this is something that hasn’t hit the market yet.”
“Designer?”
“No. More like a combat drug, though it doesn’t effect the nervous system so much as the synaptic relay.” The tattooed face of the Hawaiian wore a quizzical expression. “Have you heard of the drugs Sixgun, or Boost? Well, amplify the effects those two drugs would have and focus it on the logic center of the brain, the problem-solving center, and the comprehension center, then as near as I can tell, you’ve got this system enhancer.”
“You figured tha’ out in an’ hour’s time usin’ college equipment, Lad? What in the Hell are you doin’ edgerunnin’?”
Firewind paused for a moment, his mouth slightly open before he continued. “Look, it isn’t difficult to tell where the drugs focus lay once I was able to combine the results of my scans with the bloodwork. The downside is that I only have half the equation. I can tell what the sum of it all is, but I don’t know what made it all work—I don’t have the equation, if you will.”
“But this drug killed the lass, no?”
“Or a combination of drugs; yes.” Keahi glanced at the body for a moment. “Though, like I said, this isn’t something that’s on the street as near as I can tell—“
“No,” Springed-Heel Jack and Spiff both spoke up at the same time, but it was the more prominent fixer that continued, with a glance at the other man. “I’d ‘ave ‘eard of it had it been available on the streets.”
That said, Springed-Heel Jack turned and began a slow pace of his end of the room, all eyes on him. Tapping his chin, arm folded across his chest, he was nodding slowly as he began to talk.
“So, we’ve go’ ourselves a bit o’ a predicamen’. The contract said t’ deliver the bird by three in the mornin’ unharmed, bu’ the drug—or drugs—she was takin’ killed her ‘fore we could deliver.”
“Hey,” Preacher growled from his perch. “If that cocktail made a person smarter, more capable of solving problems, an’ better able t’ comprehend problems; would it make them smart enough t’ the point of organizing the Wild Things t’ where they’d become a problem for megacorps?”
Keahi nodded, slowly at first, then more assuredly. Springed-Heel Jack paused as he considered this, then turned and faced the lot of them, his brow creasing in sudden anger.
“Folks,” he said in a low voice. “We’re the fall guys now, an’ I donna like being the fall guy.”
The statement caused the room to fall silent or a moment before DigitalScribe spoke up using a tone of dawning realization. “The package was supposed to be delivered unharmed, and instead, she dies of an overdose from an experimental drug. Let me guess; the contract was initiated through crystal palaces and glass buildings? Well, I might be pissing into the wind, but I think ol’ Springed-Heel Jack is onto something here. This is a megacorp trying to get something back and we’ve just stepped into the frackin’ grave they’re going to bury us in to cover this up.”
The fixer stared at the media with narrowed eyes for a moment as though considering him in more detail for the first time, then he turned to Croaker, “Yer friend has hit the proverbial nail upon the head, Lad. I’m thinkin’ that we’re about t’ be fracked from behind without no Vaseline unless we do somethin’ about it first hand. I’m also thinkin’ that we’re no’ about t’ get paid on this one.” With a sigh, Springed-Heel Jack looked down at his boots and swore silently to himself before looking up at everyone again. “Every one o’ you are targets now. There’s no doubt about it. I donna know the lot o’ ya as it seems tha’ Croaker and Peacekeeper ‘ad t’ pick up some additional meat t’ replace some that was lost, but the storm ain’t the only thing blowin’ tonight. I’m afraid tha’ unless we take action, we’re all dead.”
“What kind of action?” Keahi said in a voice so low it was barely heard. His eyes were wide, and his mouth dry. This was what he wanted; to take on the megacorps, to bring down their tyrannical rule on society, but up to this point in his life, he’d been handling odd jobs that remotely affected them. Now, he was looking down the barrel of a gun, and it was held by a full-fledged corporation from what he was gathering.
“Who is it?” DigitalScribe asked. “Who’s the employer? Arasaka? Biotechnica?”
“Biotechnica is who the man works for as near as my sources can tell.” Jack was taking notice of Scribe’s intuition. “Now, we can still hold the meet with the contractor as he’s expecting us t’ deliver in…” Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. “…thirty minutes a live package. We haven’ relayed the fact tha’ she’s flatlined yet. Tha’ might give us the opportunity t’ grab the bastard an’ figure a way t’ deal with this mess if’n the lot o’ you want a piece o’ that action.”
“Finesse,” Scribe countered. “Yeah, that has finesse written all over it. Look, no offense Mr. Jack, but your organization against Biotechnica? I’m sorry, but isn’t that a bit like you taking on the Mob? If this is a leak—if this is a Biotechnica operation—this corpo has a lot to lose. You think he’ll just roll over and hand you your out? I don’t.”
Night City University, Medical Education Laboratory, Science Labs Building – Lower West Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 2:35am
Posted on 2007-10-06 at 20:46:49.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Oh, we're likely dead.
I agree... but we're likely dead. This reminds me a bit of the time my friend had my 3rd level druid go up against a red dragon. Now, I'm not stupid... I had him run. As a matter-of-fact, he ran straight for the water of a lake not too far off where I hoped to shapechange into a fish and escape. Didn't make it.
Green rays of light destroying boulders--boulders being hefted into the sky like artillery... I'm pretty sure that this fits that category. 
Posted on 2007-10-06 at 18:45:32.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I think...
I'm thinking that with Firewind's player having quit, I may take the medtech as an NPC, unless Drakar is really set on playing him. I was originally keeping Preacher as the NPC, but the information that the Medtech needs to have on hand is a little more daunting to take over than a solo.
So, Drakar, if you want to play you can take on Preacher, or the Netrunner Jazzer (though he has far less to do with the game at this point).
Oh, and by-the-way, I've moved the storyline on. Good luck.
Posted on 2007-10-06 at 18:42:40.
Edited on 2007-10-06 at 20:55:27 by Bromern Sal
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Good on ya.
Monty gave the Chief a nod of approval as she returned to her seat having successfully changed things up. All confidence and calm, the lieutenant silently returned to peering out the small cockpit and considering what ramifications this deviation could entail. The Army trains paranoia into a person--especially a special ops person. You had to be paranoid to survive--everyone out to get you, the slightest disregard for a little old lady in a heavy coat resulting in the whole team being blown to smithereens by a suicide bomber...it wasn't a pretty world that the military trained you for.
These pleasant thoughts remained foremost on his mind for the remainder of the flight, even into the landing and right up to the point where they disembarked, if somewhat clumsily, from the scramjet to be received by the soldier. His team were all trained personnel; the files he had overlooked on the B-52 had attested to that. He had no reason to organize their boarding of the Arctic Cat, no reason to assume any of them didn't know their stuff. As a matter-of-fact, the looey was perfectly content to keep on considering the strangeness that was the malfunction, or prearranged failure, of the coordinates.
When they arrived shivering and jarred at White Horse, Monty was more than ready for the relative warmth of the facility. It had been cold enough that it was difficult to keep his mind on the business at hand. When meeting with the Major, Lt. Kernan offered a salute as was appropriate and then shook the man's hand, nodding at his statement.
"We appreciate the hospitality, Sir." Monty gave a curt nod. "But if I may; we need to report that scramjet's coordinates either malfunctioned, or were entered in incorrectly in the first place. If it hadn't been for the Master Chief here, me and my team could've ended up in God-knows-where. Chief Blake can give you further detail on what the on-board contained if you don't have the staff on-hand, Sir."
That little bit of information delivered to a superior officer was all Monty needed to relieve his mind of the responsibility such an oversight presented him. Sure, he'd keep in mind that there was the possibility this mission was a suicide from the get-go, but he'd handed the relative information over to Mother Army and could focus then on getting his team ready for the final leg of their mission.
"One final thing, Sir," Monty remained 'At Ease', his hands behind his back, clasped at the wrists as he spoke. "Is there any recent satellite imagery of the science station? Weather patterns, topographical and thermal imaging, any intel you've got for further consideration would be appreciated."
Barring any additional information that comes up resulting in continued conversation, Monty accepts the invitation to get a little rest, sure that his team won't be able to attain such a luxury for the remainder of the mission. He is not going to allow all of the time at White Horse to be spent in R&R, but will set his watch alarm for an hour before the E.T.D. where he will go over the information the Major provides (if any), and the information Blake can pull up on her laptop, developing a plan of entry.
Posted on 2007-10-06 at 18:39:04.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: I don't have...
Not a lot of time right now but didn't want to hold things up.
Asher'd be in the engine room then, and the move's a go.
Posted on 2007-10-03 at 01:59:41.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: Wuh e'er
Char watched the knight's face closely, like he was reading the tracks of an elusive prey through a blizzard. He knew that the news he'd delivered was daunting, but he also figured that the bonds of family would be too much for the big man to ignore. Not that the ranger had ever had a family to equate such emotions with, but he'd seen Alloryn and Arien together, had been apart, and yet had witnessed their bond none-the-less. As he stood there, he knew Arien's answer before the man spoke, and when the armor-clad knight made evident his decision, striding off towards the tower, Char hung his head for a moment, his hair cascading down to curtain his face.
Maximus offered his simple conclusion and followed which left the ranger's shoulders shaking as though he were crying. It was a brief moment for those who witnessed it, and the mistake of assuming tears was quickly dispelled as his low chuckle carried from beneath the unruly mop.
Tossing his head back and freeing his dark features from the confines of the mask his hair had provided him, the bearded woodsman slipped his bow from his quiver snatched an arrow to accompany it, and then grinned broadly--even wildly.
"T' da gates o' da Abyss we go den, an' wit da smiles upon er faces we do it, fer it be wit friends we go t' die, an' fer more'n money we do offer 'rselves."
With that, Char, Ranger of the Wild Coast, jogged after the others, his cloak sweeping behind him with some finality.
Posted on 2007-09-29 at 03:08:11.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I've got my computer back so...
The respite is over. I will be posting a continuance within the next couple of days. Let's get those posts in place people.
Posted on 2007-09-29 at 02:40:38.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Got my 'puter fixed
I'm raring t' go so I'll post to get Char up to speed.
Posted on 2007-09-29 at 02:39:13.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Thank you...
Thanks for the lesson Professor.
It is good to know.
Posted on 2007-09-29 at 02:37:23.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Before we make a call...
I hate to put the breaks on, but I have a couple of questions before I offer up my opinion:
1. The crew has some history together, so I'd imagine Wyatt would know which was the most likely to do well in the Engine Room now that Kora's gone. So, who is it?
2. Does ridin' the shadow of the other Firefly require any system changes? Any electrical modifications? For that matter, does it require any mechanical alterations?
3. Can Wyatt offer Dash some assistance with the piloting if necessary? He's no slouch himself you know. Anything to better secure the success of such a maneuver, you know?
I agree--pending answers to these questions--that shadowing the other firefly is the best option, but it also seems a little too perfect, and Wyatt is still a very superstitious person. He's not likely to give the order until he's sure the stars are aligned (or at least knocked on wood).
Posted on 2007-09-29 at 02:34:29.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Ugh! Computers.
Oh, I remember Boss. Believe me, I remember.
Posted on 2007-09-28 at 01:16:05.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: My bad
Would you mind editing my post since typing on a phone can be an arduous task? Thanked
Posted on 2007-09-26 at 20:29:13.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: Logan's safe
Logan has PMd me and is waiting for something to post to. The others are pending deevolution. I do, however have a respite for the wayward sorts as my computer is in for repairs. I am currently typing this from my iPhone.
Posted on 2007-09-26 at 03:29:51.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: Ack!
In that case Roger, consider this my resignation from all of your games...
Posted on 2007-09-24 at 20:45:06.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: Not good.
Monty had done his best to remain visibly in control during the launch of the X-22 despite the huge pressure he felt and the urge to black out. Rangers, by nature, weren't prone to succumb to such simple things as G-Forces. Despite this line of thinking, it was all he could do to remain conscious and aware, peering towards the others to determine their stamina and finding the results rather pleasing (despite feeling like breakfast had been a bad idea himself). He and Blake had taken the time before the X-22 flight to review dossiers and as they jettisoned from the belly of the B-52 he used facts he could remember from each case file to help steady his mind.
Computer pilots... no consideration for their passengers.
The lieutenant had just gotten used to the extreme nature of the ride when he caught the flare of a red gemstone out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head slowly towards the panel his brow furrowed as the red light reflected in his wide pupils. That's not good.
"Chief," Monty said calmly, his eye still on the light. "Please tell me that the flashing red light means the bathroom is occupied."
Posted on 2007-09-23 at 23:46:32.
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Topic: Voyages of the Rocinante - Firefly RPG QnA
Subject: maybe...
I think Eol might be trying to give Tann some time to develop a rash, or something. I'm posting soon so the blame cannot be me.
Posted on 2007-09-23 at 04:10:15.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: hello?
I think everyone's fallen asleep. Well, I guess you snooze you lose. I'll be posting shortly and if people don't post before me their characters might not do what they'd planned.
Posted on 2007-09-23 at 04:05:55.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: yeah... Me too
oK so I'm shooting to have another post in place here shortly as well.
Posted on 2007-09-23 at 04:00:09.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell Q&A
Subject: Unfortunately you can't
PM more than one recipient at a time. The information you provided me in PM however is great and really all that I needed.
Posted on 2007-09-18 at 03:56:34.
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Topic: A Cold Day in Hell
Subject: The Ride
Monty had arrived at the mess hall to find Blake ready and waiting for him. Their private meeting consisted of the Lieutenant casually probing a little into her professional past, trying to glean a little more about her personality, and doing what he could to learn as much about her as possible. Why was she so valuable to the military that they'd allow her obvious indiscretions? What made Blake the oddball on his team, and would her value overcome the risk such a non-conformist represented? When he had the chance, he also asked if she had the dossiers for the team, since he wasn't provided the paper files for review. He'd want to get into the specifics behind each individual on the plane if possible.
After the meeting, Monty had grabbed his breakfast (a light meal as he wasn't usually prone to eat a hearty breakfast) and had made his way to the table where the rest of his team had gathered, returning salutes with a salute of his own and a quick, "As you were." He'd eaten in silence, listening to the conversation incited by Blake, and carried on by the others, quietly evaluating each individual's personality. When Kane performed the Kit inspection, Lt. Kernan left him alone, remaining aloof, perhaps as a way to show the Staff Sergeant that he trusted him to his duties, or perhaps because he wasn't interested in the mundane aspects of leadership. Whatever the case may be, he shouldered his pack and weapon, and led his team to the tarmac.
The B-52 was a big airboat, there was no doubt about it, but Kernan had flown in them before on numerous high-altitude jumps. It wasn't that he had become so accustomed to the thrill of the flight and the resulting mission, but he'd grown very good at hiding it, remaining absolutely calm in the face of his command, and thus providing his personnel a stable platform from which to react. The X-66 was another story, however.
"“Oh man, “Charlie's excitement was near childlike in Monty's opinion, and not something he shared,” The X-66 is totally the bomb! Tell me, the AI, is it the XJ-76 or the Sendai 180? The XJ has the killer geo-positional guidance systems but the situational gyrocomputative capabilities of the Sendai just blow my mind! All the calculations needed to keep one little errant air flow from sending you into a face plant at Mach Six. Oh trust me, boys and girls,” she assured her team mates, “we are in for one primo ride!”
Keeping his opinion of relying on computers to do the flying to himself, Lt. Kernan motioned everyone to get strapped in, placing himself next to Chief Blake so he could share her computer terminal for personnel review.
"Let's get this party started," Monty called out above the drone of the engines, giving Corporal Gere the thumbs up indicating the team was stowed and ready.
Posted on 2007-09-16 at 19:20:34.
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Topic: Voyages of Rocinante - Serenity/Firefly RPG
Subject: Captains orders... we fly!
“Captain, perhaps a discreet inquiry or two would be better for all concerned? That kitten comes from money, and money means Alliance power on Bellerophon, which is where I’m guessing we picked up our fuzzy castaway. An intermediary or two between us and kitty’s owner may be the way to go. Dodger should be feeling kindly towards me these days, let me send him a wave.”
Wyatt had watched the interaction and the passing around of the bauble that had been attached to the kitten’s collar with little expression on his face. He didn’t even bother to take a turn at examining it. Instead, he waited for his crew to come to their conclusions and he had to admit, Willow’s deduction was likely the best course.
“Do it, Willow. We don’t have the time t’ be playing cat an’ mouse with the Alliance when we’re doin’ it with the Consortium. Now, unless any of the rest o’ you have something t’ add concerning this stowaway, I suggest we turn our attention to the matter at hand and begin coverin’ points about runnin’ a blockade…”
That said, the captain began to review the standard practices required to help a ship run silent.
* * *
Wyatt made sure he was sitting co-pilot when they reached Regina. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam, he was just a hands-on type of captain and he wanted to be there to help if Dash needed it. Sung watched as the Alliance ship registers began to show on the monitors, calmly storing the names of each in the back of his mind as he glanced over to the radar screen. He was accomplished at this sort of thing, having run Alliance blockades during the War, and he knew Sam had some practice as well, so he was positive Sam knew what he was talking about when he said in a quiet voice, “You see what I see?” The holes in the ship’s positioning were just big enough to allow a ship to slip through with some skilled piloting.
“All right, Sam. Take us in.”
Posted on 2007-09-16 at 18:59:14.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Cyberpunk 2020
Subject: I've posted...
Ok, sorry again for the lack of posting recently. I've found some free time today so I'm trying to get my games caught up. I've taken some liberties in this post with character reactions/interactions due to the nature of the post. Game on.
Posted on 2007-09-16 at 18:32:59.
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Topic: Cerebral Paradox - Mature Content
Subject: Continuance
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:55am
“…so spill it.”
DigitalScribe took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the cockney smile on his face never fading as he considered how best to rephrase what had obviously been misunderstood. After a moment of silently bouncing about in the back of the van, the media shrugged and finished putting his camera into his duffle.
“It doesn’t mean anything underhanded, sneaky, or covert, Choomba. All I was getting at is that I’ve been shot at—I’ve had friends shot at—and I’m not one to just shrug that sort of thing off. There’s a reason behind all of this, and until I know what it is, I’m not so sure I can let go of it. That’s all. You know how things eat at ya until you can’t sleep? Well, this is likely to be one of those things.
“Now, as far as people recognizing me is concerned, that’s not wholly likely since I’m rarely in front of the camera—that’s for higher paid desk jockeys, not us combat reporters. At least, not until we get a network job—“ Frankie held up a hand to forestall any sudden outburst from the big nomad, or any of the others listening in. “—Not that I want a network job. They fraq with the news more than deliver it.”
Firewind, having been listening to the media’s explanation and vaguely wondering how their next meeting would go (he had never met Springed-Heel Jack, though he’d heard of the man), suddenly had his attention drawn to Merry Deth where she lay against the wall of the van. He’d thought he’d seen her arm twitch, but that couldn’t be with the sedative he’d given her, she should be in a completely relaxed state. But there it was, none-the-less, as he watched her hand twitched, and not due to the jarring ride that Bullseye was giving them. Brow furrowed, the medtech shifted to one knee, and leaned over the young woman. Just as he did so, here eyes opened wide and she drew in a sharp breath. Then, her body began shaking violently, arms and legs thrashing about as though being convulsed by huge amounts of electricity.
“Fraq!” Preacher—who had been lying fairly close—gingerly scrambled out of the way. “She possessed?”
Keahi grabbed his bag while he tried to fend off the blows from her arms and legs. Her eyes were rolled up into her head, showing only the whites, and her mouth was slightly open. It was obvious to him that she’d bit her tongue as a little bit of blood-flecked spittle foamed at the corners of her mouth. Securing patients weren’t supposed to be restrained, but in this case, where there were so many sharp metal pieces about, it was in her best interest.
“Hold her still!” he barked as he snatched his medscanner from the bag. Peacekeeper grabbed at the girl’s arms, taking two tries to catch them in their wild spasms while Guardian threw himself over her legs.
Firewind quickly activated the device, running it about six inches over her head and chest in a couple of seconds. The display readout flashed to life showing immense brain activity and a buildup of pressure in her frontal lobe. Possible causes for the seizures were listed down the left hand side, near the display of the bulging artery beneath the skull. Keahi’s training kicked in and he knew what had to be done. The problem was, that even with his surgical kit, he didn’t have the tools to do it. Then more problems began to rise. The medscanner beeped again, indicating the discovery of another artery bulge near the first, and then a third. They were growing at an alarming rate, far quicker than was natural, and certainly quicker than any surgery could combat.
“What the devil is goin’ on?” Preacher growled as they all watched blood begin to drip from her ears with Firewind sitting completely still, a sick look on his tattooed face.
“She’s having multiple brain aneurysms,” the medtech said in a tone just barely heard above the van’s engine and the storm.
“Multiple?” DigitalScribe queried. “But, isn’t that unlikely?”
“Yes!” Keahi practically yelled his frustration. “One is tough enough to combat, and requires invasive surgery, or tools we don’t have on hand. Three—“ his medscanner beeped again and again showing two more growths. “—Five, and in this timespan… it is unnatural…and there isn’t anything I can do.”
“So she’s…” The media began but was interrupted when the medscanner beeped in one, solid line: the sound of a flat-line, and Merry Deth’s body stopped convulsing while blood poured from her ears to pool across the floor of the van.
“Dead.” Keahi replied solemnly, the medscanner dropping into his lap.
The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:56am
Posted on 2007-09-16 at 18:31:27.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off Q&A
Subject: Posted.
Sorry for any delays. I found some time today so I've posted.
Posted on 2007-09-16 at 17:46:50.
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Topic: Continuing Where We Last Left Off
Subject: This ain't my cup o' tea, love.
Char stood pressed against the stone wall, his eyes on the tower across the way, his body as flat as he could make it in whatever shadows were present. The ranger's mind churned through the possibilities, the dangers, and the likely results. Magic was certainly afoot and that was not something he knew very much about. He considered briefly that it might be Alloryn who was in the tower fending off those who would be her kidnappers, but he dismissed that idea rather as quickly as it had come up. He'd never seen her wield that much power, and though he couldn't claim to know the noblewoman mage as well as, say, Adrian, there had been ample opportunity for her to display her might on the last outing they had undertaken together.
From their vantage it didn't look as though Char would be able to determine much more of what was going on either below or above, so, with a jerk of his head he motioned that they should return to the others.
(OOC: Barring any objection, or lack of response from Da' Moon...)
Deftly avoiding the corpses of the fallen Greens, Char emerged from the shadowy stairs and went immediately to where his armored friends and their companions had gathered.
(OOC: Please correct the post--or me--if I get this wrong Roger. This is the way I interpreted it.)
"Da walk be gone, so der no' be a way across abo'. Looks like der be a bi' o' magic a' play from da groun' as well as da udder tower. I seen a bi' o' siege warfare in me time, an' wha' we saw up der could-uh been dat, bu' no guarantees. Rocks flyin' up from da groun' an' being destroyed by green magic from da tower.
"So, 'less da two magic-slingers der 'ave some way t' make us fly, we bes' be findin' a way outside an' see if'n we canna' determine who's doin' wha'. 'Less some udder idea comes up."
There is a route to the tower. There is no roof and it is a body falling zone, but there is a route. Only the roof is missing. - Alacrity
Posted on 2007-09-16 at 17:45:52.
Edited on 2007-09-26 at 17:32:29 by Alacrity
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